Orphan
by sense the sarcasm
Summary: rating quesitonable. Harry seems to have run away from school, and the childs home. His memory is wiped and hes on the run. his abusive past comes into view. its better than it sounds (i hope) plz r&r! (ch1 revised!)


A/N: If things sound stilted, well – beta for me! Constructive criticism welcome.  
  
Btw – I think I badly miss spelt some words in here. if you catch them, please do mention them and tell me in ur review/e-mail and I'll come back and change them. Thanx!  
  
Neway – plz r&r, or e-mail. Thanx. Oh! And the disclaimer.  
  
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If this was mine, I would still stick it through this blender, but the truth of the matter is that I don't, but I'm doing it anyway.  
  
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~~~  
  
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My cousin's spoilt. My best friends are spoilt. Both of them. My other friends, they're spoilt as well. I know I'm spoilt too. I know some people call me deprived. I'm glad with what I have, I know I have more than others do. And I know I sound like I'm preaching and self-pitying. Well - I don't mean to preach, and I do know that I like my self-pity. It's a habit, one that I am not proud of.  
  
If you would confront me on it, I would probably say I wasn't. But then again, I have been called a compulsive liar.  
  
I have been many things, selfish, arrogant, a liar, a survivor, a wizard. And I don't like myself for it. At all. And I wish I could change, wish I have enough will power. Guess I should work on that and my self-esteem.  
  
But not right now. Now is the time to reflect has been said, has-been's, would-have-been's, they all fit in the same category as what-ifs, life is full of them; at least mine is. Please let us take a minute's silence and bow our heads in thought.  
  
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We all have a place in creation for us, whether we believe in fate or not. I know I have a place, I've heard what it is, I've lived part of it, I know what it's like and I don't like it.  
  
I guess what happened was perfect. Of course I didn't think so at the time - after all, I had just lost the only semblance of real family I had left. Not blood relatives, they're still there. But loving caring people.  
  
My godfather - gone. Dead. My only friends so distant that I felt like I didn't know them. And the school - nothing could interest me anymore, not really. Nearly everyone pitied me, and all of those that did I ignored, or avoided.  
  
I remember Malfoy – cornering me in the hall. Trying to get a rise out of me in the crudest way. He made a crack at what happened to Si- Snuffles.  
  
The one time I hit back, and he wouldn't even remember it. In fact, I don't even remember it all that well either. I remember the sound of him hitting the wall, and the red - seeping out around him. And a knife or something like it, something silver, shiny. Flashed in the scant light of the dungeons, near the potions classroom. Flesh wounds are so messy.  
  
Anyway, Fudge and his pet auror's came round, and questioned a few people, him and me included. They healed him all up when they found him I think. After all, what would it look like if they told the school they had just 'Found him like that sir! Really we did!' right, just before they were trying to find themselves new jobs, with Lucius Malfoy making sure they didn't.  
  
So, they questioned us, against Dumbledore's orders of course. Why? Well - I don't think Veritism on 16 year olds is quite legal personally. I might be wrong though. Anyway - they wiped everyone's memories. I'm glad they did me last, Fudge didn't even stay when they obliverated me.  
  
Obviously - I do remember. He was sweating and pale, wringing his hands.  
  
'If Dumbledore hears of this I'll be out of office, and then where would your funding be? Where will all your power come from? The next minister might not let you have quite so much you know!'  
  
He was rambling. Sweating, shaking, rambling, twitching, and all pale.  
  
The other auror's had to leave as well - you see, there was this big crisis out there they were trying to keep under wraps, called the Return Of Voldermort crisis. Of course, no one called it that, they were, after all, keeping it under wraps.  
  
Anyway - the idiot they left to wipe my mind did something wrong. He let me keep my memories, if not my mind. He brought out his wand, pale wood, maybe pine, about 11 inches, maybe shorter. Swishy. I remember, Oliviander liked that word. I must say, I like it too - swishy, switchy, swish and flick and  
  
'Hi, who are you?'  
  
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Did I ever tell you I'm a compulsive liar? At least they have said I am. They also told me I have 'Problems' with a large capital P. I'm perfectly fine, I know I am. I'm perfect - after all, why wouldn't the boy-who-lived be perfect? Just dub me The-Boy-Who-Was-Perfect, or The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be- Perfect. What else could he be?  
  
I've also heard them say that they don't quite think, 'I don't quite think' that I'm exactly right in the head, 'that he's quite right in the head'. I remember, they think I couldn't hear them, that I can't remember, that I'm not quite 'right in the head', so I wouldn't know quite what they're talking about.  
  
But I heard them. All the time, going on about me,  
  
'You've heard him talking! He thinks he's a wizard of all things!'  
  
'All children believe in magic Keith!'  
  
'Mandy! He's not a child, he's 16!'  
  
'If he wasn't a child why is he in a children's home?'  
  
'That's different. You know what I mean, you know he's a bit, well - odd. He has to be put somewhere safe, where he can get better properly.'  
  
'Oh yes. I know what you mean. You want to send him to a mental institute!'  
  
'It's the best place for him! You haven't been with him as long as I have Mandy! He's not all there; you don't have night duty. He wakes up screaming, talking about rape, murder, torture! If you can say that he's all right after that, then maybe you should get checked up too!'  
  
I remember Mandy talking to me after that.  
  
'You're going somewhere special tomorrow. It'll be a real treat!'  
  
'I know where you're taking me.'  
  
'And where did you find that out?'  
  
'I heard voices and they told me.'  
  
'You hear voices, like in your head?'  
  
'Yes.'  
  
She looked scared, so I clarified it a bit.  
  
'Not this time though, I heard you and Keith talking.'  
  
'Oh did you?'  
  
She didn't look that much better, how ungrateful of her.  
  
'Yep.'  
  
'So, you heard where we are going tomorrow then?'  
  
'Yep.'  
  
She didn't respond then, I guess waiting for me to respond but I didn't offer anything else. The ball was in her court. Court, Tennis court, Tennis, it's a muggle game. I by far prefer Quidditch. I remember telling Keith about it once, when he mentioned that he played Tennis with Mandy, and that I would like her.  
  
'Really' he said, as soon as I mentioned the flying brooms. He zoned out after that; I noticed the glazed look in his eyes, like Ron's when Hermione was talking about homework.  
  
Just like she would when Ron and I talked of Quidditch. Just like I did, when Lavender and Pavartti talked of divination, Ron spaced out too then, as did nearly just about everyone else, just like when...  
  
'Well?' she finally broke the silence, 'Where do you think we're going?'  
  
'To the loony bin' I rolled my eyes - of course! Where else would I be going? I giggled a bit. It was just too funny.  
  
She looked scared. Not of me, though most of the other people were. But that I knew, like she had done something bad, like putting that cute little hamster you promised mummy that you would take oh so special care of, into the juicer.  
  
I didn't care. I smiled happily, and I saw her flinch, but I didn't care. I guess she thought I looked scary like that, some of the other kid's thought that I did too. I smiled happily anyway and went to sleep well that night. In the morning when they came to wake me up for the 'trip', I wasn't there.  
  
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The road was long, and dirty. They used to say I was dirty too, a dirty little freak 'Freak!' and that I should stay in my cupboard 'Get in! And stay there!' that I was dirty, and that I got all I deserved 'smack... what ... you... moan... deserve! How... dare... you... ooooh...' gasping, shuddering and moaning 'smack! give Petunia cheek... like that! Freak.' I know I deserve it, really, I do.  
  
I know all bad little boys get that done to them. But I know, none of the boys at school - at Quidditch, in the dorm rooms, have scars like I do. Maybe I'm much more bad than they ever were. Or maybe it's the magic - after all, they can heal so much with magic.  
  
But I had to keep my marks, even if they could go away, to remind me how bad I was, how I'd always be dirty, unclean, not fit to live in the same house, how I needed to pay for it all. And then clean up all the sticky mess afterwards, and the blood, and all the little toys he might have used. Make sure they were ready in case he wanted them for next time.  
  
Or sometimes, that he might have let the other boy use on me. The good boy, who smirked at me, and got me punished whenever I ran away from him. I still always ran. I still always got punished. I guess I like my self-pity. It's a bad habit I know. But I would always take my punishment, I knew I deserved it, then sit in my cupboard like a boy should do after he's been punished, while I was told how grateful I should be. And he would always ask if I knew why I was being punished, that it was because I was bad. And I could never not be bad, even though I tried. He always asked if I understood.  
  
'Yes uncle.'  
  
And I did.  
  
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That night, instead of the bed I had slept in, I slept 'round the back of a petrol station, warmer than anywhere else I could get, but still uncomfortable and cold. I needed to get far away from where I was before, to somewhere I hadn't been before, where I wouldn't be recognised.  
  
I didn't worry too much about being recognised, my hair was longer, no one cut it at the children's home; in fact it hadn't been cut since before S- since the end of last school year... It covered my scar, and fell into my eyes. My glasses were gone too; they had gotten broken when I fell out of the bunk bed. I was on top, and I just simply wasn't used to it, I'd never been on the top of a bunk bed before, never been in one at all.  
  
So – I forgot, and fell out, breaking my glasses. I'm annoyed that I couldn't fix them myself, I couldn't do magic after all, now could I? They couldn't be fixed by muggle means and no one would buy me new ones; they didn't want to waste the money, and as I did it just when I got there, most people didn't know I needed them, or wouldn't believe me. Like I said, I have been called a compulsive liar. Well, ever guessed who called me that? Well – they did for one.  
  
So I won't be recognised, maybe I would by some people who really knew me, but still, even they would have to give me a second look, maybe even third or forth or...  
  
Especially in my condition right now, dirty, smelling of petrol from crouching here behind the petrol station. Ragged clothes, too small, clothes they had spare at the temporary orphanage – child's home as they called it. A way station for waifs I heard someone say once, and it's fitting. Waifs, pickpockets, mini-murderers; like me. The clothes are too tight, slightly, and badly made, they chaff under the arms, tight trousers so I can't bend my knees properly unless I bunch the material up.  
  
However they were the only clothes that fit me when I got there, nearly a month ago now. Just a month.  
  
I wonder if they missed me at school? It was half term when I 'left', school was just breaking out when Fudge came to call. It was only a week's break, they must've noticed sometime before school started, or at least the first week of school back.  
  
I wonder what they did with the spare bed in the dorm. I really could do with it now. I'm doing what I can with the coat I took of the hooks by the door. I do believe it's Keith's – it certainly looks like it.  
  
Wanker kept his nice warm coat, while I had to cope with too tight jeans, made for a 9 year old (or so the label on it said) and an air-tex that I'm sure was part of someone's PE uniform back in primary school. They didn't even bother to give me any underwear, not a bloody pair of boxers spare in the whole place they would give me! Bloody cold it is too, being winter and all.  
  
I'm glad the shoes at least fit, and that they're comfortable. Apparently no one really else had feet my size, that most of the older boys' only stay there shortly, and didn't need new shoes. The other boys were mostly too small. So, I got some nearly new comfy trainers, even if they were pretty old when I got them, with a layer of dust so thick and manky that I had to soak it and scrub it off. And I got socks, phew. Otherwise the blisters I would have got would be like a localised crucio. Most people had shoes and a pair of fit clothes if nothing else.  
  
My clothes that I came in were so bad that they did actually burn them. They thought they would just degrade if they tried to wash them, and they were already falling apart with only blood and other gunk (mostly unidentifiable) on them keeping them together.  
  
I'm glad they didn't identify the blood, and the other gunk. I don't know what they would have done then. Probably more 'therapists' and then I would have been send of the crack-joint even earlier. I'm glad I got forewarning on that. I'm never going into one of them, all those crazy people around me *shudder* it would drive me crazy with them.  
  
Anyway, need to move. Sun's going to up in a few hours, so I've already slept in late and many people have already woken up. I just hope that they don't see me or dismiss me if they did.  
  
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Think normal, seem normal, breathe, in ... out ... in ... out...  
  
Walking alongside the road, I realise just how selfish people are. The litter left by the motorway, obviously thrown out of car windows as they pass by, or vans or lorries, is awful.  
  
Broken television sets, cigarettes, wrappers, cups, even a sofa. That they would stain the surface of the world like that is immoral.  
  
Does no one care for the feelings of the Earth? That on a round about way, that they are killing themselves off with the pollution.  
  
Killing the magic under laying beneath and in the surface. That magicians' power has lowered so much in the last few centuries as civilisations have boomed, and destroyed.  
  
Did you know that the rat population is directly proportional to that of humans? Rats, disgusting creatures, but then again, I'm biased against them so much, from muggle upbringing and from Pettigrew.  
  
Traitor.  
  
Stumble over a scrap of – something, then continue on. Don't worry about it for now; can contemplate it later, just walk for now.  
  
One foot infront of the other. Then the other foot infront of the one. Repeat. Sort out your head, you want to at least seem normal when you next need to stop and talk to others.  
  
Only been gone half a day, need to keep moving, can eat round evening, but so hungry. However, hunger is easy enough to ignore, with enough practise. And I've had enough practise. Lots of it. Just walk. Seem normal.  
  
One foot infront of the other. Other foot in front of the one. Repeat.  
  
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If I told you I was a wizard would you believe me? Maybe. Then, if I told you I am a compulsive liar, would you believe me? After all, if I lied, I'm a liar, and I compulsively lie. Then again, if I'm telling the truth, I'm not exactly your perfect compulsive liar now am I?  
  
I take it you wouldn't believe me then, when I say I'm a wizard. Well – the thing is, I'm telling the truth. Well, at least I was a wizard, I'm not sure if I still classify as one, I can't exactly do magic right now at least.  
  
At least, not what anyone else would call magic. I guess scaring people out of their wits and seeming more intimidating than Snape isn't really magic.  
  
I wonder if I can pull of the 'You do that one more time and death will be too good for you' scowl, patented by Snape of course. Doesn't mean I can't try at least.  
  
Now, who on? Hmm, that boy that keeps on glancing at me across the room is a pain...  
  
Yes! A success! I doubt it's quite as well polished as Snape's, but I'll get there, eventually.  
  
This motorway café came at just the right time. Tired, hungry, late afternoon, after almost non-stop walking. And then! One of the kind people running it took pity on me, she reminded me of Mrs. Weasley, sitting at the table, and trying to get you to eat as much as you could. Always thought I was too skinny. I guess she was right, she wasn't the only one to remark upon it.  
  
But still, she gave me a sandwich, which she said was just not good enough to sell to the customers, but all the staff had already eaten. It looked fine to me, but either way, I was grateful for it. I told her I would help her out a bit if she wanted.  
  
I knew she might have refused, but she did need the help, and I would be able to do it. After chores at the Dursleys', I wasn't afraid of most work, and could do it near any time. Hungry, weak, tired or hurt. I would cope.  
  
So, it was a few hours later, and she told me to sit in the corner, till the place got a bit busier, when the darkness had fully set in, more people would arrive, and she could do with my help then.  
  
I've already helped a bit, maybe I could slip off soon, when she doesn't notice, and find somewhere to sleep for the night. Need to find that soon, need to be up earlier tomorrow, I lost a lot of walking time sleeping in a bit.  
  
Relax, smiling at the boy from earlier, I can tell he looks even more frightened than before, a bit nervous.  
  
'Hi.'  
  
Shy too, though he did build up enough courage to come up and talk to me. He reminds me of Dean a bit, quiet, reserved, but probably with an amazing talent there, like Dean's drawing.  
  
He has a nice voice, soft, a bit rough. Not too deep, nice.  
  
He looks more nervous now that I haven't responded, and starts to turn away, probably berating himself for approaching me, leaving me to myself.  
  
'Hey.'  
  
He turns back 'round, a shy smile lighting up his face. It makes it very open. Nice, almost – pretty.  
  
'Hey.'  
  
I laugh, quietly; 'you already said that.'  
  
He smiled, sheepishly, seems more one for smiles than talking, this one.  
  
'Sorry.'  
  
'Nothing to be sorry about.'  
  
A silence, he's very shy, it's cute, sweet. I smile at him again, this time a proper open one. I haven't smiled like that for quite a while.  
  
He laughs and smiles back.  
  
'I couldn't help notice you sitting over here by yourself, you look very comfortable for somewhere who doesn't come round here.'  
  
'How do you know that?' I think that was a bit too sharp, but maybe it'll get him to answer me. He's making me nervous.  
  
He's looking down at his hands, shy again. It's cute, but it sure means that it takes a while to start a conversation.  
  
'I come round here a lot, to... to get away from everything.'  
  
'Everything?'  
  
I'm genuinely curious now, what do normal people worry about? Looking up at me, he searches my eyes. I don't try to push him, I know he'll speak if he wants to, and if he doesn't; my mind shrugs. Doesn't matter. Finally, he speaks.  
  
'My mum. We- fight a lot. We used to be well close.'  
  
I can't quite hide the pain in my eyes.  
  
'Hey, you ok?'  
  
'Yeah,' I look away, 'it's nothing much, it's just that – I don't really know much about my mum.'  
  
'You live with your dad then?'  
  
I winced, 'No. They're both dead.' He looks apologetic and as he tries to apologise, I cut across him. 'Don't. It doesn't matter; you weren't to know. It was a long time ago, I barely remember them. I only have one memory of them.'  
  
'Oh?'  
  
'Yeah.' Now it's my turn to stare at my hands.  
  
'What of?'  
  
I look away, out the window at the growing darkness, the dirty floor, the bright neon light on the ceiling.  
  
'Just before they died.'  
  
I look back down at my hands, seeing the dirt, the lines, the calluses. I trace the lines, the veins under my skin, and I just know he's feeling awful for bringing it up. Great, another person pities me. I get up to leave, when his hands pull me back down, and into his arms. I freeze, tensing up, and his grip loosens a bit.  
  
'Sorry, I just thought... you look like you need a hug. I-'  
  
I relax. Back into his warm arms, wrapped around me. How odd it is, you hardly ever see guys hug anymore. He's interesting.  
  
I  
  
hug back, and he hugs me tighter, resting his head on my shoulder.  
  
'And I think I need one too.'  
  
I smile at that, and hug him closer. Maybe I will stick around for a while. I smile, and as he looks up, then hides his face in my shoulder, I can feel him smiling too.  
  
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'Oh my! Harry, what are you doing here?'  
  
I look up, I hadn't heard her approach. I curse myself, I need to be more watchful now, now that I'm travelling, I have only myself to look after me. I need to watch out for others.  
  
A moan comes out from my shoulder, and I realise that the boy from earlier is still there. I can feel a smile tugging at my lips, and just know it's reaching my eyes.  
  
'Hey, Samantha. I'm sorry, I just needed to get away from home for a bit.'  
  
'Oh Harry, you and your mum used to get on so well. She's such a nice lady, you're both just in a bad patch.'  
  
I start; he's called Harry too? Damn, I can't use that name too! It'll make me too memorable.  
  
'So, I really didn't expect to see you here. You got my new friend then? I honestly expected him to be gone by now.'  
  
But, what can I use? Neville? No, I've already done that. Ron? No, he's my best friend, it'll be too strange.  
  
'Oh! I'm sorry! By the way, I'm Samantha.'  
  
'And I'm Harry.'  
  
'What's your name then sweetie?'  
  
'Me?' my voice squeaks, how embarrassing! I haven't done that in years, since it broke! I can feel my face heating up as they laugh at me. Damn, I need to think of a name now!  
  
'Oh, we're sorry dear, we don't mean to seem mean.'  
  
'It's just, well – funny.'  
  
I smile too; I can see the joke, even if it is at my expense. I smile.  
  
'So, what's your name then?'  
  
'James.'  
  
I start; I hadn't realised that I had said something. But I couldn't take it back now, I would just have to live with it and try not to wince each time it is said. It's only for a short time anyway. Why the hell did I choose that name?  
  
'What a pretty name! I just can't wait to find out what it means. Don't you think it's so interesting finding out what names mean? Seeing if people grow up like their names? I know that Harry's name here means war-power. Though I don't see much of a war going on now, you never know...'  
  
I couldn't help it. I froze at that, though Samantha didn't notice, Harry just gave me a funny look.  
  
'Anyway boys, I'm closing now. I do believe you two fell asleep a while back. Why don't you go back to Harry's and rest there James dear?'  
  
I wince.  
  
'Call me Jim please.'  
  
It was the only thing I could think of that was short for James. I just couldn't stand being called James.  
  
'Alright, Jim.' She smiled warmly at me, 'I know your mother won't mind too much Harry, though if she does, just send James – sorry. Jim 'round here to camp with me, unless he has somewhere else to go. Do you Jimmy, sweetie? You aren't visiting any one 'round here are you? Oh! I should have thought to check! What if they're worrying? Oh I'm so sorry Jimmy, I just-'  
  
'Samantha, please.' She hadn't looked like she would stop, and I had to weigh interrupting her over letting her continue. Eventually I just had to say something. 'No, I'm not visiting anyone. Really, thank you, you have nothing to worry about. I was just passing through. Thank you, but I should get going now.'  
  
She looks horrified.  
  
'We couldn't do that, now could we Harry? Oh no not at all! I insist you stay!'  
  
'Really I-'  
  
She breaks me off, and Harry seems to agree with her. Samantha shouts over her shoulder for her friend to lock up the place, and an affirmative reply came back. Between the both of them, they manage to shuffle me to the door, and out it and down the track behind it, ignoring my protests.  
  
'Don't be silly! Walking at this time of night! Come; sleep at Harry's. You can leave in the morning if you really must, though we'd love you to stay for a little longer.'  
  
I really don't know though, I should be going, but a bed, a real one. Or just somewhere warm for once.  
  
I come back to myself outside a house, with Harry looking for the key on his person. Samantha, impatient, reaches around him, and presses the doorbell. The familiar ringing that normally would come when pressed didn't come, and I heard a sigh behind me, from where Samantha is standing. She reaches forward again, and raps on the door, loudly. I wince.  
  
The door opens, to reveal a slight woman, nearly as tall as her son, near 5'6" maybe. Taller than me defiantly. She's thin, probably from stress from what I've heard, and has faint black shadows under her eyes to prove testament to it. The laughing lines there were juxtaposed sharply with the frown lines it looks like she's developing.  
  
Her brown hair is wet, and short, about shoulder length. Lighter than her son's hair, light brown and blond, while Harry's hair is a reddish light brown. Though they both have the same warm brown eyes, both very expressive, very large and round.  
  
Though from there they differed, her face was long and thin, like her body, as was her nose. Her lips thin and pale.  
  
His nose was short, and straight. His body is slim, but not skinny, he's well built. Slightly lanky, and if I know anything about it, I might say he has the body of a runner, from a guess. But with the baggy clothes he's wearing, I really can't tell much.  
  
Anyway, he's a pretty boy. Definitely a very pretty boy.  
  
While I had been thinking, we had moved into the sitting room, and Samantha had relieved the whole thing to Harry's mother.  
  
As she caught me looking just now, she smiled, and I could see her, as she must have been a while ago. I saw her in her son, from earlier.  
  
'Of course he can stay! Don't worry about me Sam, I'm coping fine.'  
  
'Alright, Charlie, but come and talk to me, whenever. I won't mind you know.'  
  
Her laugh is pretty, very different from her son's, but still very nice. Though it does also sound strained.  
  
'I will Sam. Thank you.'  
  
'Nah, thanks to you, for taking in the poor boy.' You can see her compassion for the younger women in her eyes, the way she speaks, in her body. Her worry.  
  
'Why wouldn't I? A friend of my Harry's is welcome. You know that. Anyway, it's late; I really need to get some sleep. I have some papers to sort out tomorrow.'  
  
'Don't stress yourself too much Charlie. Sleep well. You too, Harry, Jim.'  
  
She smiled, and let herself out.  
  
Harry's mum came up to me then, and hugged me.  
  
'Hey Jim, I'm Charlotte.'  
  
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Sleep that night was great. Harry was a lucky boy, having a mum like that. But, with everyone bound to notice me in the morning I really have to leave now. If I stay any longer I might just be tempted to stay for too long.  
  
But, now that it's nearly morning, I need to get up and get going. Before anyone wakes up. So – curtains back, window open; can't go out the bedroom door, it squeaks, and Harry told me his mum was a light sleeper. So – out the window I will have to go.  
  
'Mum? Oh – Jim. What's going on?'  
  
Shit. I twitch; I hadn't planned on getting caught in the act.  
  
'Hey, were you going to leave me here?'  
  
I shift under his gaze. Damn but running away from such kind people really weighed you down with guilt.  
  
'Yeah.'  
  
I look down at the floor, away from the window. A quiet laugh breaks my concentration on memorising the colour of the carpet. In shock I look up at his laughing smile.  
  
'I knew you would. You don't need to look so surprised. But, before you go, you need some new clothes. They look awful!'  
  
I shift again from foot to foot.  
  
'I don't have anything to repay you with.'  
  
He looks surprised.  
  
'Don't worry. I don't mind. You just have to promise that you'll send me a letter to tell me how you are. Ok?'  
  
I nod, and smile. I would love to keep in contact with him. He scrambles for a pen and paper on his bedside table. Scribbling something down on it, he hands it over to me.  
  
I look down at it, frowning.  
  
The address, yeah, that I get. The phone number, sure. But what was the other thing? Oh yeah, damn! An e-mail address! I snort as I read that, and he frowns.  
  
'What's wrong?'  
  
I don't think I can e-mail you really.  
  
'Oh.' He looks embarrassed, funny, in a cute way. 'Just in case you ever can.'  
  
I smile at him, he genuinely seems to want to stay in contact. I smile happily. A real friend, who likes me. Wow.  
  
'Will you stay in contact with me?'  
  
'If I can!'  
  
The grin on his face could light up the sky. He looks really happy.  
  
'I'd love you to.'  
  
10 minutes later, I was outfitted in some jeans and a proper shirt, and a jumper! I kept the coat, shoes and socks, but threw everything else away. He also gave me a new pack of boxers he hadn't worn, and some pairs of socks he said he had just never worn. I didn't really care if he had or hadn't. I had new clothes.  
  
With a large grin, I launched myself at him, and he laughed. He gave me a couple of spare tops and trousers in his old rucksack, and watched me climb out the window, with a wave. The special scrap of paper was safely wrapped in a small plastic wallet, with some money he gave me.  
  
Seems to have been my lucky day, meeting him. I smile back at the memory.  
  
Walking down the road, the world seems to be a better place for it all.  
  
.  
  
I found a place to rest for the night; it's a run down boarded up hose on the edge of the motorway. It was getting late, and it was getting dark. This was the first thing I had come across resembling shelter since this afternoon. It must be pretty old, as I got in through that hole in the ground they used to have to pour coal into the cellar.  
  
It's times like this, and playing Quidditch, that being small comes in real handy. I could just fit down the hole, and landed on the dusty ground. Climbing around the house, I found a nice small room upstairs, with an airing cupboard outside with some old threadbare and funny smelling blankets.  
  
I can't sleep; insomnia striking again. I've been like this since Sirius left. So, instead I'm looking out the window at the moon. Moony. Riddikulus. The moon.  
  
And thinking as I'm staring, of how I got here. I told you about the daft auror right? Well, the thing is, I wasn't lying when I asked who he was, I really didn't know. He never had given his name.  
  
I can't help but laugh out loud, and it echoes strangely and coldly around the empty house.  
  
But, it's true, he hadn't. But even if he had, I wouldn't be able to remember him. He did wipe my memory. And I sat there, confused, staring at him.  
  
I can't remember too well what happened after that, I still haven't remembered that yet. I'm not sure if I ever will. Some, in fact many things are still fuzzy. And I know it, as people around me in my memories and in real life seem older, and I don't know what has happened to them in between.  
  
They gave me a potion to drink to help me with my memory, and it tasted funny, like lime, but sweeter. And it left a funny bitter taste at the back of your throat.  
  
But, maybe I should go back a bit, explain what happened before that.  
  
Some of it's speculation, but I'm guessing the auror didn't know what to do with me, and so that was why he was carrying me down the path to Hogsmeade, unconscious and in a body bind.  
  
I don't know exactly what happened, but what I think happened, from what I have heard, is that he heard something at the edge of the path, and shot a spell of into the forest.  
  
It struck Zarkik, I think, and he was healing for weeks. But, anyway, he and his hunting party got annoyed, and ambushed him. He let me go, wasn't that nice of him, to leave me with an unknown danger, bound and not even awake. And fled.  
  
By the time the foolish man had got back with some other people, I had gone, and the scouts told me a week or so later, that more aurors' had come in and wiped their memories and the clumsy fool's too. That was good, he couldn't botch up anything again, hopefully.  
  
Then they had all gone away for a while. In this time, they took me back to the city. They decided not to kill me, or doing anything else, they had their reasons, as they told me later. So they took me back, but the now ex-auror had messed up the spell and done something funny to my head.  
  
Not just a really powerful spell, but a wrongly cast one. And so they did what they could to heal me, and wait until I woke up.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
. 


End file.
